The Cannon Point neighborhood of Lauderhill, Fla., was originally conceived as a haven for the middle class elderly back in 1996. City officials did not anticipate that assisted-living facilities for the mentally ill would move in instead.

In the last eight years, the Lauderhill Police Department has had almost 1,300 missing person calls from the Cannon Point neighborhood. Detective Robert Clifford says residents come back 99 percent of the time, but the calls take him away from the other cases he needs to handle.

Danny Rivero for NPR

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Originally published on October 17, 2017 2:19 pm

As states have closed down mental hospitals, they've struggled to find housing for the mentally ill. In Florida, assisted-living facilities have become the de facto solution.

It takes just a high school diploma and 26 hours of training to run one of Florida's mental health assisted-living facilities — that's lower than the state requirements for becoming a beautician, a barber or even an auctioneer.

Now an investigation by The Miami Herald and member station WLRN has found sweeping failure within Florida's assisted-living industry, especially within the 1,109 facilities that cater to the mentally ill. The investigation found that those facilities have twice the rate of abuse and neglect compared to homes specifically for the elderly.

Nowhere are those problems more obvious than in Cannon Point, a neighborhood outside Fort Lauderdale. All eight of the facilities on its one U-shaped city block cater specifically to people with mental illness, giving it the highest concentration of mental-health assisted-living facilities in Florida.

It's one of South Florida's strangest places and patrolling it is one of the most complicated police officers you'll find.

On Patrol In Cannon Point

Lauderhill is a working-class city of 70,000 people. At 6 a.m., the sun is not up yet, but Officer Tom Merenda is patrolling the drab stucco buildings crammed into the Cannon Point neighborhood.

Even though the morning is dark and drizzly, Merenda is wearing shorts. His mom says he has nice legs; his colleagues make fun of his chicken legs. They also make fun of his affection for the characters of Cannon Point.

A figure shuffles up to Merenda, screaming something unintelligible. Merenda can just make out the man's grubby hat and stained sweatshirt.

Merenda smiles and says, "Top of the morning to you!"

The man says a few unintelligible words and then says he used to be a police officer. "I used to be a police for Hialeah Westland."

As a car approaches, Merenda warns the unsteady man to watch out. "Are you retired now?" he asks.

"I've been working for 'em for 50 years," the man replies.

"Well, it's about time to take a retirement," Merenda jokes.

Merenda calls men like this "our mental health consumers." It might sound condescending, but he actually has some very personal experiences.

First, to understand Officer Merenda, you need to understand this neighborhood. The eight privately run assisted-living facilities in Cannon Point try to help the mentally ill keep up with daily medications, get access to regular services and live comfortably.

That's the theory, at least.

A Police Call Every Four Hours

Cannon Point exemplifies the challenges of mental health assisted-living facilities. Police get a call from this neighborhood on average once every four hours. That's 14,000 calls from one city block over the last eight years.

The calls can show the brutal side of the neighborhood — at times dealing with runaways, suicide threats, self-inflicted harm or psychotic episodes.

To make matters worse, a drug-dealing culture has cropped up. Merenda says dealers call the place U-Street, and it has its own YouTube channel featuring videos of street fights and homemade rap anthems.

"It all comes with the territory," Merenda says.

Merenda polices Cannon Point more than almost anyone else in the Lauderhill Police Department. In fact, Merenda is really the only one who wants to patrol it. He has his own nickname for the place: "I call it home because it's my home away from home."

But at this early hour, Cannon Point is relatively quiet. Merenda points to a beige stucco building, the most heavily fined assisted-living facility in Florida.

"This facility here, Briarwood Manor, has one of our more prominent residents. His name is Stephen King," Merenda says. "He's not the famous book writer, he's a famous panhandler. But he's the nicest guy you ever meet — except for when he's on crack."

Two years ago, Merenda was dispatched to Cannon Point because King had gone on a drug-fueled rampage and was holed up in his room. Merenda knocked on the door, calling his name. King, high on crack, let fly a string of curses.

King had stabbed another resident with a large knife and had punched through a television set. When Merenda finally got into King's room, blood was everywhere.

"And you just have to put on some latex gloves and just go in there and try to subdue them without getting blood in your mouth or in your eyes or whatever," Merenda says. His eyes soften. "But he needs help."

Residents told police that the on-duty caretaker was asleep during the whole ordeal.

The incident was one of hundreds uncovered during the investigation by The Miami Herald and WLRN.

State agents caught employees in nearly 100 homes illegally doping residents, tying them up or locking them in isolation. Agents then caught each home committing the same violation again.

There were more than 500 cases where facilities failed to give patients their psychotropic drugs, psychological services or proper oversight. The rate of abuse and neglect was twice as high as at homes just for the elderly.

Good Intentions

This was not the city's vision for the Cannon Point neighborhood.

Merenda has no idea how it became a haven for drugs and violence. Earl Hahn, the planning and zoning director for Lauderhill, has a few theories because he's spent hundreds of hours trying to undo it.

"What's that saying? The road to hell is full of good intentions?" Hahn says.

Twenty years ago, he says, the city had a grand plan to turn Cannon Point into a haven for the middle-class elderly. That's the good intention part.

The road to hell bit? Special zoning allowed an exceptional density of assisted-living facilities in the neighborhood. Instead of homes for the elderly, mental health assisted-living facilities moved in.

Hahn says someone should have noticed the city was creating a psychiatric ward.

"You know it's hard to establish mental health facilities and many people don't want them in their neighborhoods," Hahn says. "Once we opened it up and said, 'Welcome! Welcome all!' then you've opened up the door. Owners say, 'Here we can locate without the problems.' "

What Can Replace Institutions?

And that's why Cannon Point isn't just a Florida problem. Legal experts, academics and disability advocates say you can pick anywhere in the country and find some version of this: the warehousing of people with mental illness.

In New York, advocates have been fighting "adult homes" that are bigger, they say, than some of the state institutions people are leaving. In Illinois, it's nursing homes: 15 percent of the population are people with mental illness. When mixed with elderly residents, there have been problems with rape and even murder.

Advocates say people with mental illnesses need services to help them integrate into normal society — the exact opposite of clustering people in homes, and the exact opposite of Cannon Point.

But from Merenda's perspective, Cannon Point is at least something.

"If it wasn't for these ALFs," he says, "either somebody would be on the street or they would be with a relative that can't take care of their loved one that's having problems."

But would Merenda send his grandparents to one of these assisted-living facilities?

"Sometimes you don't have a choice," he says.

A Personal Connection

This is where his story gets complicated. No one knows the problems with mental health assisted-living facilities better than Tom Merenda. His mother, Christine, is in one; she suffers from paranoid schizophrenia.

As he knocks on her door, he whispers, "She hasn't seen me in a while, so she's going to be freaking out."

"Oh, Tommy! Honey! Oh, I love you. I missed you." She hugs him. Her room smells like smoke. Her bed has one sheet. The walls are bare, except for a blue and green finger painting by one of Merenda's daughters.

After the visit, Merenda admits he feels guilty every time he visits her in that drab room.

"I know it's the only option I have because I can't afford to keep her where I'm living and when she is off her meds — I have kids at home and things like that," he says. "I just can't have them grow up in that type of environment."

There's a paradox in the way Merenda fights for this neighborhood. Advocates — and quite frankly commonsense — would say Cannon Point is not helping anyone.

City leaders even agree: They've just passed a law to remove all assisted-living facilities from the neighborhood within five years.

But that leaves Officer Merenda and others to wonder where the residents of Cannon Point will end up next.

And I'm Guy Raz. In the decade since states started to empty their mental hospitals, they've struggled to find housing for the mentally ill. In Florida, assisted-living facilities have become a solution. To work in one, the state offers a special license that takes just a high school diploma and 26 hours of training. That's lower than the state requirements for a beautician.

As Kenny Malone, of member station WLRN, reports now, this solution has created a serious problem for at least one south Florida neighborhood and the cop who patrols it.

TOM MERENDA: There was a stale doughnut in front of me in roll call.

KENNY MALONE, BYLINE: It's about 6 in the morning in Lauderhill, a working-class, south Florida city of 70,000 people. The sun's not up yet.

MERENDA: No. it's still dark out.

MALONE: This is about the time you'd find Officer Tom Merenda, with the Lauderhill P.D., patrolling the Cannon Point neighborhood. Even though the morning is dark and drizzly, Merenda's wearing short shorts with his uniform. His mom says he has nice legs. His colleagues make fun of his chicken legs, but they also make fun of his affection for the characters of Cannon Point.

A figure shuffles up to us in the dark. Merenda smiles.

MERENDA: Top of the morning to you.

UNIDENTIFIED MAN #1: Morning. I like to see the police out here. I've been a police for...

MERENDA: Watch out for the car. Are you retired now?

UNIDENTIFIED MAN #1: I've been working for them for 50 years.

MERENDA: Well, it's about time to take a retirement.

UNIDENTIFIED MAN #1: I've been an inspector for 45 years.

MERENDA: One of our mental-health consumers.

MALONE: It might sound like condescension in Merenda's voice. It's actually compassion derived from some very personal experiences. We'll get to that part of the story later.

First, to understand Tom Merenda, you need to understand this neighborhood. Cannon Point is a one-block stretch packed with the highest concentration of mental health assisted-living facilities in the state. The eight privately run ALFs here try to help the mentally ill keep up with daily medications, get access to regular services and live comfortably. That's the theory, at least.

UNIDENTIFIED WOMAN #1: Nine-one-one, what is your emergency?

MALONE: Police average a call from Cannon Point once every four hours.

MALONE: Tom Merenda polices Cannon Point more than almost anyone else in the Lauderhill P.D. In fact, Merenda's really the only one who wants to patrol it. He points off to a beige, stucco building, the most heavily fined ALF in Florida.

MERENDA: This facility here, Briarwood Manor, has one of our more prominent residents. His name is Steven King. He's not the famous book writer, but he's a famous panhandler. But he's the nicest guy you'll ever meet, except for when he's on crack.

MALONE: To understand just how out of control Cannon Point has become, consider that the following is just one of those 14,000 calls. It's two years ago. Merenda responds to a call that Steven King is holed up in his room.

MERENDA: And a knock on the door. He knows me, I know him. And I say, Steven, Steven, and...

MALONE: Steven lets it fly.

MERENDA: (Beep) you. Get the (beep) out of here. Dirty (beep) pigs. He liked to use the F word a lot.

MALONE: Steven was on a crack binge. He'd stabbed another resident, punched through his television, and was bleeding everywhere.

MERENDA: And you just have to put on some latex gloves and just go in there and try to subdue them without getting blood in your mouth or in your eyes or whatever. But he needs help.

MALONE: Residents told police that the on-duty caretaker was asleep during the whole ordeal. The incident was one of hundreds uncovered during a collaborative investigation by the Miami Herald and WLRN, that found sweeping failure within Florida's assisted-living industry, especially within the 1,000 facilities that cater to the mentally ill.

State agents caught employees in nearly 100 homes illegally doping residents, tying them up, or locking them in isolation. Agents then caught each home committing the same violation again. Our investigation found assisted-living facilities that cater to the mentally ill have twice the rate of abuse and neglect, compared to homes specifically for the elderly.

Nowhere are those problems more obvious than in Cannon Point. So I ask Merenda: How did this happen?

MERENDA: I'm not really sure.

EARL HAHN: What's that saying? The road to hell is full of good intentions.

MERENDA: Earl Hahn is the planning director for Lauderhill. He says 20 years ago, the city had a grand plan to turn Cannon Point into a haven for the middle-class elderly. That's the good-intention part. The road to hell bit? That was the special zoning that allowed an exceptional density of assisted-living facilities into the neighborhood.

MALONE: Instead of homes for the elderly, mental-health ALFs poured in. Hahn says someone should have noticed that the city was creating a psychiatric ward.

HAHN: You know, it's hard to establish mental-health facilities, and many people don't want them in their neighborhoods. And once we opened it up and we said welcome, welcome all; of course, places that historically have difficulty locating, they say, here, we can locate without the problems.

MALONE: And here's why Cannon Point isn't just a Florida problem. I talked to legal experts and academics and disability advocates. They say you can pick anywhere in the country and find some version of this: the warehousing of people with mental illness.

In New York, advocates have been fighting adult homes that are bigger, they say, than some of the state institutions people are leaving. In Illinois, it's nursing homes. Fifteen percent of the nursing home population there is people with mental illness. When mixed with elderly residents, there have been problems with rape and even murder.

Advocates say people with mental illness need services to help them integrate into normal society - the exact opposite of clustering people into homes, the exact opposite of Cannon Point.

But from Tom Merenda's perspective, Cannon Point is at least something.

MERENDA: If it wasn't for these ALFs, either somebody would be on the street, or they would be with a relative that can't take care of them.

MALONE: But would you send your grandparent to one of these ALFs?

MERENDA: Well, like I said, sometimes, you don't have a choice.

MALONE: And this is what makes Merenda's story so complicated.

(SOUNDBITE OF KNOCKING)

MALONE: No one knows the problems with mental-health ALFs better than Tom Merenda.

MERENDA: (Whispering) She hasn't seen me in a while so she'll see me and, like, probably freak out.

MALONE: And yet his mother, Christine(ph), is in one. She suffers from paranoid schizophrenia.

MERENDA: Hi, Mom.

CHRISTINE MERENDA: Hi, Tommy, honey. Oh, I love you. I miss you.

MALONE: Her room smells like smoke. The bed has one sheet. The walls are bare except for a single finger-painting by one of Tom's two daughters.

MERENDA: And how is my precious little Abby(ph)?

MERENDA: She's good.

MERENDA: And how is my precious, a little bit bigger - a little bit - Skyler(ph)?

MERENDA: She's good.

MALONE: After the visit, Merenda admits he feels guilty every time he visits his mom in that drab room.

MERENDA: But I know it's the only option I have because I can't afford to keep her where I'm living. And when she is off her meds, I have, you know, kids at home and things like that. I just can't have them grow up in that type of environment.

MALONE: There's a paradox in the way Merenda fights for the neighborhood. Advocates - and quite frankly, commonsense would say Cannon Point is not helping anyone. City leaders even agree. They've just passed a law to remove all ALFs from the neighborhood within five years, leaving Tom Merenda and others to wonder where the residents of Cannon Point will end up next.